


Ego Monstro // Scrapped Notes.

by aetherytes (hanabusakokoro)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Putting these in a separate publication for the sake of neatness, Some dumb things I wrote for Ego Monstro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:36:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanabusakokoro/pseuds/aetherytes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div>
  <p>A collection of scrapped chapters and ideas for my discontinued fanfic Ego Monstro. Posting here for the sake of it, since I wrote them. So why not show people my dumb writing, haha.</p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. untitled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually written for chapter 3, if I recall correctly, but the end of chapter 2 veered off into a direction that made this almost completely invalid. I wish it hadn't, since I actually liked this piece.

Behind all my scepticism, and the fake smiles and the pitiable laughter, I was a poor excuse for a human being. I held no merit, no trophies, and no laudable feats to net up and collect and show off to the world. I pushed everything that I had ever once held dear to me away for fear of tarnishing it with my imperfections and intricacies. I don't really show it, but behinds closed doors, wrapped in pure white sheets, paper thin bones and a indelible sense of unadulterated self loathing lingered. At some point, I had began breaking. When or how didn't matter, but the scars and the bruises and the constant languorous will I held was a detail that others always seemed to fail to notice. Perhaps... perhaps, it were the way I smiled, and laughed and assured everyone that, despite my lack of finesse, despite my lack of dexterity or ability to do the easiest of mundane tasks with efficiency, I was perfectly okay. Perfectly normal. Honestly. I was just, to them, another kid who failed to do even the simplest things without so much as a lackadaisical temperament.

Maybe it was just me, but I often thought that people just didn't seem to care much about anything that didn't involve their own personal interests. If it didn't benefit them in one way or another, they wouldn't look twice, nor condemn themselves to the thought of wasting their time without reward. Honestly, refuting claims that I were no different would be hypocritical. To an extent. It wasn't so much that I wanted reward for my time, but with balancing more than what one was perhaps able to carry on his own, I nary had time to deal with the boyfriend troubles of a far too annoying co-worker, or the pretentious nitpicking of an impatient landlord. Maybe it was just me. But in the end, when I truly thought about it, perhaps it wasn't.

Perhaps he were not much better.

Because upon first glance, you'd think he was a sour, unapproachable and unassailable asshole. In a sense, perhaps, entirely and vastly different from myself, in that he chose to hide his inner demons neatly away behind a furrowed brow and pursed lips. Perhaps that was a safety mechanism of his own. A defence, a wall, a safety net of sorts. Maybe I was wrong, and maybe I was just assuming things, but as idiotic as I sometimes paint myself to be, I'm not blind to the inner turmoil of another. Maybe the cause was different. Maybe the reason, though unexplained, yet still held his answers as plain as day. He and I were like two sides of the same coin. And I know it sounds disgustingly cliché, and I know that my thoughts are sometimes about as coherent as a drunken fool, but I knew what I meant.

But I don't think anyone ever truly took the time to stop and really, truly, scrutinize him. Beneath the irritability, beneath the bitter gaze and the steeled gait, he was tired. Listless. Sick of being stagnant. And perhaps I was reading too much into these things. And perhaps I was right. Or wrong. But what I saw, when I gazed into his dull, lifeless orbs, was an altruist. The soul of a caged bird, yearning for freedom. From what, I dare not ask nor begin to fathom. But with ill contempt, there lacked volition. And though with forked tongue and barbed wit did he veer from my copious flood of apologies, he did so with a will that was far more shaken, far more unstable than what he himself painted upon his canvas. Maybe he just desperately wanted me to shut my stupid mouth and leave before I caused him any more of a headache. And maybe, had I not ruined his work, he would've been far less irked, and far more welcoming to my presence. Or maybe he just thought that I was a dumb child that knew no better. In retrospect, however, maybe he was right.

But that didn't mean I wasn't intrigued.


	2. Ambrosia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at one point, eren was supposed to attempt committing suicide, but levi coerces him out of his irrational decisions.

If I could sleep peacefully without thinking anything... If I could have the ability to not hurt anyone, to not talk to anyone... If I could cease to exist, in this moment, forgotten by everyone... I think I'd be okay with that. And if not tomorrow, then next week. If not next week, then next month. And if not next month, then next year. I was unsure, but some part of me truly wished that happy times would come again. That's what I wanted to believe. When I think about it rationally... perhaps it were just one of those childish fantasies. But so what?

Up until now, I've tried my best not to be bothered by it too much, but... I really don't think I can continue living this same pathetic life any longer. And I know I never quite explained my past clearly. Whether or not it were intentional was besides the point, but the fact is, is that I don't remember much of it at all. I know I may have mentioned one or two things offhand, but those are just small fragments -- tiny moments I can glean from a cloud of haze. To be more specific, there are only a few things to which I can be completely certain of. 

I am nothing. I deserve nothing. I am a heartless monster.

I drove my Mother to suicide. It was most definitely my fault.

And because of it, I was cursed.

I had carved these ideals into my mind so much, and for so long, that I had entirely became to believe in them. They had become a part of me, no matter how true or untrue one could convince myself to believe they were. In my head, it was a one hundred percent undeniable truth. And up until now, no one had managed to sway my thought nor shown me different. I believed I was a monster because I was treated like one. I believed I was nothing, because I was useless. I deserved nothing, because I was a fool. I was heartless, because I was numb. I was who I was, because I had no one to prove it otherwise.

I know I prattle on about having bad luck so much, but I never really explained that to its full extent, either. But had I shown a little more compassion... had I admitted that I was wrong, that I was a stupid child, that it was all my fault... Had I done that, would I still be cursed? Or is this just God's idea of a sick joke? Is this all just one fucked up game? Is the world really, truly, that terrible..?

Because even though I didn't particularly feel anything when my mother died, Later on, when the anger and the numbness had worn off, I began to feel an underlying sense of guilt. That I had caused the death of another. And maybe we weren't on the best of terms. And maybe she babied me far too much. But she was my mother, and that's what mothers do, right? I don't know why I was so blind to such an obvious thing. And sometimes I wish I hadn't been so difficult. Sometimes I wish I hadn't been so knuckleheaded and outspoken and antagonistic to my mother. That maybe if I had shut up and treated her like she wasn't insufferable, then maybe she would have felt like she had some kind of self worth.

I suppose the part that really gets me, is that she never said anything about it. She never confronted me about her feelings, and she never said goodbye. I suppose, after all I had done, I shouldn't have expected anything like that... but a part of me still wondered. What had been the final blow? What god awful thing had I done that finally sent her over the edge? How long had she been suffering in silence? Since Father up and vanished? Had she always been depressed? But why? Why did she hide it from me?! 

But isn't that... the same as what I've been doing since then?

Had I been suffering in silence..? Is that why Mikasa and Father up and vanished? Did I push them away, too? Are they still alive and well? Are they suffering? Do they feel guilt? Remorse? Hatred? Loathing? Do they wish it had been me instead of Mother? Do I... have any self worth..? Would it be easier if I were to disappear..? If so, then I apologize for being alive. But I can't die, I can't die, why can't I die? Surely, even I deserved to dream a dream so kind, right..?

The questions circled and collected and amassed a pool within the confines of my mind, so much so, that I hadn't realised that, at some point, I had began crying. Strangled sobs escaped parted lips, muffled by the fact that whilst I had been lost in thought, I'd withdrawn myself into a small, pitiable heap -- knees pulled up to my chest, grotesque face buried within the cavity between my legs and the folded arms that rest atop them. I visibly shook, salty tears slipping down my cheeks and soaking into my jeans, leaving small speckles in odd patterns. I felt the damp material cling to my legs, relished the oddity, and almost cherished it -- I hadn't cried like this in days. I hadn't felt my conscious rapping its knuckles against the fragile dam inside my chest. I hadn't felt the small leaks spring open, uncared for. I hadn't noticed it at all. But now they'd cracked. Now the walls had began crumbling, restlessly, unwavering.

But then I heard his footsteps, and I had felt his hand upon my shoulder. I felt him grip my arms. I felt him trying to force me to look at him. I felt his piercing stare upon my crown. And though I couldn't see his face, I knew his brows would knit together in confusion. And I knew that the corners of his lips would twitch and he'd frown when I refused to respond. And I knew that his face would become a mixture of worry and anticipation when I'd shrug his hand away from my shoulder or wrench my arms out of his grip. But most of all, I knew he wouldn't give up. Because somewhere along the line, he had promised me. He had promised that he would believe in me, and that as long as he believed in me, he would protect me from my despair. 

'You don't have to face reality. I'll take care of it in your stead.'

Was that how it went? At some point, he had told me that. And when he did, I hadn't really thought anything of it. But even so, I wish I could've locked this away in my heart forever. I wish I could've maintained my composure for a bit longer... I wish he could've seen me in a better light. Not like this. Not like this, when I had nothing to live for. Not when my heart was tearing me apart like this. I want to erase it all. Destroy it. Destroy me. I don't need a heart anyway. Did I even have one? Wasn't I just a heartless monster?

"Eren? Are you alright?"

He breathed, barely audible from within my protective shell. But it was sincere, which was odd, considering his usual condescending tone. But I remember... that was exactly how he sounded when he promised me such ridiculous things. When he promised to be my something akin to a white knight. Or perhaps 'guardian angel' fit him perfectly. But I remember back then, that he had been sincere in his intentions. And why, and for what reason, I didn't ask, because I didn't understand. Or rather, I may have been too scared to understand, for fear of coming too close, and falling too far.

I made no effort to reply, choking back tears through clenched teeth, eyes squeezing themselves shut as I pulled my knees closer to my chest. Withdraw. Withdraw and run away. Disappear. Vanish. I wanted all these things and nothing more. I didn't deserve his kind words, nor his compassion. Nor did I truly understand why he would even offer me such things. If it wasn't pity, and if it wasn't sympathy, then what was it, really? No one, truly did anything without there being some kind of meaning. Did he want something from me? I had nothing to offer. There was nothing to gain here.

"Eren, please answer to me."

Both of his hands placed themselves upon my shoulders now, and when I recoiled, his vice grip tightened. His intent was clear, of that much I was completely certain. He wasn't going to let me go any time soon. And yet there was no exasperation in his voice. No irritation at my unwillingness to co-operate. Just raw, but utterly and entirely pure sincerity. And I suppose that was a little bit comforting, in knowing that none of this was for his own gain. That right now, despite his deadlines and his workload, he chose to comfort me. Me, who pushed him away. Me, who refused his aid time and time again. This selfish, abhorrent me.

Another gentle shake of my arms dissipated when his words fell upon deaf ears once more. The sobs, and the shaking that wracked my body ceased as I listened to his soothing voice call to me from within my shell. Then I shook my head, remaining mute for a few moments longer before raising my head slightly to peer out above the fold of my arms through tumescent mossy orbs. He was closer than I'd realised, knelt upon the floor before me, knees touching my shins, hands firmly gripping my shoulders, and his face -- oh, his face, contorted in his apprehension. His brows, not wrought with confusion, but rather understanding. Then his lips, not in that obstinate frown I had come to expect, but rather... it was odd, but I couldn't quite read his expression. But his eyes, those pools of once aphotic vexation reflected naught but his genuine perplexity mixed with a tepid vigilance.

With that wistful glance, my already shattered foundations collapsed once more, heavy lids falling to shield myself from such a sight, lashes wet with dewy tears. How could I do this to myself? Or more importantly, how could I do this to him? I'd tried for so long to keep this all inside, to stay strong, resolute... to take it all on the chin and keep moving forward, come what may. But I'd had enough. I'd had enough of pretending to be strong. I'd had enough of the lies and the delusions. I was broken. And I think, at some point, I was just terrified. Every day. I just wanted to make things head the right way... But I just don't know what I'm supposed to do to make things right? Do I give up? Do I lay down and die? Do I continue on living this way?

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know-- I don't want to be stuck in this childish way of thinking. I want to feel the familiar warmth of human hands intertwined with my own. I want to forget that this was really, really, really my reality. But he won't stop, he won't stop, and he won't stop, no matter how much I tell him that it won't end well for either of us. That this tangled red thread that bound us like this was a taboo that I shouldn't act upon, no matter how much I wanted it.

"W-why..? I'm j-just a... heartless m-monster after all..."

I cursed inwardly at how unconvincing my strained and shaky voice had been, teeth clamping shut upon my lips and biting at them in anticipation before another fresh bout of tears could work their way out from within.

"I know you've lost someone, and it hurts. You may have lost them suddenly, unexpectedly. Or perhaps you began losing pieces of them until one day, there was nothing left. You may have known them all your life or you may have barely known them at all. Either way, it is irrelevant -- you cannot control the depth of a wound another soul inflicts upon you.

Which is why I'm not here to tell you tomorrow is another day. That the sun will go on shining. Or there are plenty of fish in the sea. What I will tell you is this; it's okay to be hurting as much as you are. What you are feeling is not only completely valid but necessary -- because it makes you much more human. And though I can't promise it will get better any time soon, I can tell you that it will -- eventually. For now, all you can do is take your time. Take all the time you need."


	3. Crowsbill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the day after the previous scrap. i think eren was having an epiphany or something.

Being a little less than perfect was something that I’d always had. It was something everyone around me had always held, too, right? No one was any more or less perfect than any other person, as within my own eyes, everyone was equal in one shape or form. So why do I feel so god damn jealous? Why do I constantly find myself staring into the mirror in dissatisfaction at how... ugly I look? How my chestnut, borderline mahogany hair hovers in a tangled mess above the base of my neck… How my hollow, vacant, malachite hues barely pass for something tangible… How abnormally normal I look compared to everyone else around me.

I don’t really strive for beauty. Beauty, to me, is only something that is superficial. So why do I still feel that disgusting sense envy? Why do I look at how... happy everyone looks with each other and find it so insufferable inside? Is it because I knew that deep down I’d never have that happiness myself? Because I’d never find someone that would truly accept me, faults and all? Or was it..?

No, this wasn’t a fairy tale. This wasn’t some kind twisted, upside-down false reality where everything went according to how I wanted. This isn’t some grand design set out by God. This is his reality. The same god damned merciless reality that has plagued me for twenty years. As much as I hate to believe it, it is the truth. And as much as I try to hide it behind a strong face and a smile — nothing ever changes. I was still alone. And that was how things would stay.

... Probably.

I thought that... maybe after I’d accepted that it would always be this way, things would be okay again. That I’d put things behind me and leave them where they should be. But the past always returns. Nothing could be forgotten forever. And for all my hard work and my innate ability to just numb myself and forget things whenever I felt the need — where did it go? Why, for all reason, did it have to just up and vanish when I need it the most? I want to forget, and as much as it pains me, physically and mentally, I just can’t. The connections refuse to sever, and the memories resurface, replaying themselves in my mind tenfold.

It makes me sick. I can feel that unforgiving sense of nausea that rises and seats itself in the pit of my stomach. It sits there and it taunts me, day in and day out. Restlessly, without wavering — and I cry. I honestly break down and cry for no given reason — just because it hurts. I am a child, a lost child, and I know it. In the back of my mind, I just knew how pathetic I am.

But I can't... no, I won’t accept this fact. I'm not strong like many of the people I know. I can't just pick the fractured pieces back up and be perfectly fine. I don't have that mind-set, that mentality, that people have accustomed themselves to have. I didn't need to. Up until I met Levi, I never had the chance to even try.

And that's why I promise myself. I promise myself so many things. So many countless things, over and over again. And I break them. One by one I become such a hypocrite and just break them. Because I don’t have the willpower, nor volition to even try to fulfil them. I lose my conviction and my heart would waver. But I’d hide it, again, behind this benign smile. It was my trademark of sorts. The only thing I can honestly hide behind. But lately... I've been breaking. My façade is slipping and I knew it, too, because he could tell what was going on inside my mind. He could see it, visibly. He could hear my unspoken words and feel how they stab at me again and again. Around him, I am an open book, and it makes me feel exposed.

My ridiculous break down episode that night hadn't helped, either. I allowed myself to break in the hands of an Angel. I spilled my heart out to him, and I’d sooner regretted it. But what’s more is that the people who I honestly thought would care about me, even in the slightest, were nowhere to be found. In my most dire moments of need, the people I honestly thought I could trust with my whole being, let me down. And it bloody hurt. It was the worst kind of pain, too, because after so long of having no one to confide in, and then finally finding someone who I honestly thought was worthy of what little I had to offer — and for them to be the only one to give a damn..? — how was one meant to think, really? But with little sense in mind, I knew I would sooner forget about it. I’d be lost within his being, and innocence would claim me again. My mind would be devoid of such trivialities as — “but this" and "what if" and etcetera.

Its at times like these, however, where I really wish that I could honestly be one of those people that can strive off of their pain, no matter the consequence. To be one of those people who could be fuelled by their anger, hatred and jealousy. I truly wish for it at times like these. Because if I really, honestly, had the option to... I would choose to always be happy. I would never have the opportunity to stop smiling. Things would be okay.

Yet no matter how much I wish for it, or beg, or cry for it, this still isn’t a fairy tale. It isn’t this twisted, upside-down false reality where everything will go exactly how I want it to work. It still isn’t some grand design laid out by God. And it most definitely is my reality. And that is the sickening truth. This reoccurring nightmare that I put myself through all for the sake of living. And sometimes its worth it. Sometimes I'm able to cope with it. But sometimes that little sense of deniability snaps, and I will lose himself. I'll throw a childish tantrum, and I'll break things. I'll hurt myself to cope with it. I'll cry myself to sleep. And try as I might, given the chance, I would never show this side of myself to anyone else. Because it scares me — how violent I can get. How violent I had been in the past, too. All the countless times I’ve come so very close to killing myself, yet still managed to barely hang on to the very end of this withered thread of life. Honestly, I'm tired. And honestly, I'm scared.

But in all honesty, it truly surprises me. But I envy it too. Its just a malignant atrocity that stains my very existence. Its a reminder to me of how human I really am. Not the heartless monster I had once claimed to be. All my imperfections that are neatly hidden away... How they just spill out in their remorseless manner... I succumb to this false insanity, and every negative feeling, every truth, every lie, and every regret returns to eat away at my mind. And I am lost. I am truly lost within the labyrinth of my own mind, without escape. Because up until now, there was no light that called to me – no beacon of hope that was waiting with hands outstretched. And I don't deserve this chance. I don't deserve this privilege. 

And its all because I am unable to accept the facts at face value. And I can't explain why I feel this way. I think that... I'm just as curious as Levi is. Because I know, at the very depths of my heart that I can't go on like this. That I don't want to go on like this. I want to erase this from my mind. I want to purge the despair and the self loathing. I want to feel like I deserve something good from the bad. Because Levi was... no, is, my saving grace. The only good thing about this pitiable life of mine. Don't I at least deserve this much..?


End file.
